Not Anymore
by Padfoot Reincarnated
Summary: Sirius Black is sixteen, to old to be comforted, too old to need comforting. And he has been since he was eleven years old. A sopping Sirius arrives on the Potter doorstep seeking shelter in a world that will not take him.


It is raining, and has been for the past three days.

James Potter flops glumly onto the puffiest armchair in the dark front room and stares blankly outside. The floorboards creak slightly, and the old house seems to tremble with some unseen thought. The sixteen-year-old begins peeling flecks of an ugly yellow paint (that his mother adores) off of the wall, watching with a sort of deliberate indifference as a patch of sky blue emerged underneath.

He wishes _something _would happen. He wishes it would stop raining so that he could get his broom and play Quidditch with the Boot kids, his main companions over the stretches of break when he wasn't with Sirius or one of his other friends. He even wishes his parents would hurry home—at least it would give him _someone _to talk to.

He can't write anyone a letter—he's already sent off his owl, Chubby, bearing a lengthy tome to Sirius. As entertaining as it would be, his parents would be furious if he lets the niffler in the house again, after what it did last time.

_Knock, knock._

James hurls himself off the chair, boredom forgotten, and careens down the narrow hallway to the six paneled chestnut door. He throws it open, not bothering to check through the window to see who it is, like his parents always warned him to do.

At first he thinks he's made a mistake—he's let in a death eater, he's dead, they'll kill him, this is it. And it was an understandable thought to have. The figure is robed in black, leaning heavily on the porch wall. Dripping wet, hunched slightly. James is about to slam the door and get out of the house as fast as he can—he and Sirius practiced Apparation at Hogsmede once (Remus refused on the grounds that it was illegal, and Peter because he couldn't manage it.) That should be fast enough—he can't control where he ends up, exactly, but anywhere but here is fine…

But as he begins to push on the solid wood, the hood falls back, letting the soft glow of the street lamp outside fall onto the face, and James sees its Sirius. He hits the light switch, and the two of them blink. James shakes his head slightly to see if the face changes at all. No. It's Sirius.

"Let me in," Sirius demands hoarsely, "I'm wet."

"Padfoot?" James asks in amazement, "What're you doing here?"

"Freezing my bloody arse off," he says, teeth chattering.

Cautiously, James allows the door to open slightly. As soon as he gets a better look at his friend, instinct takes over and he throws the door in and helps the taller boy stagger into the house.

Sirius looks almost as bad as Remus after a full moon. His face is pale and bruised, and a deep gash runs across his forehead just above his right eyebrow. He is unshaven, which only serves to accentuate the light scratches and yellowy bruises on the lower half of his face. His hair is unkempt and tangled.

James guides his friend to the couch and helps him get seated. "What happened to you?" James asks, terrified. Has someone attacked him? Did something happen to his family? James knows that Sirius has never agreed with his family, or even liked them, but James is certain that their deaths would hurt him more than he will show.

"Nothing," Sirius moans, leaning back into the pillows, allowing his arms to flop to his sides. "I need a place to stay for a while…I'll tell you, but could you get me some clothes? I haven't got any of mine."

James nods, his own face almost as pale as his friend's.

"Thanks, Prongs," Sirius says softly, his eyes falling shut.

James returns a few minutes later carrying a dry t-shirt and robes, which Sirius pulls on enthusiastically. "I haven't been properly dry all day," he says cheerfully, ignoring the puddles soaking Mr. and Mrs. Potter's soft white carpet.

James stares at his friend, stone faced.

"Alright," Sirius says, the happy façade crumpling. "Mum and Dad kicked me out this morning. Dad wanted me to join up with that Death Eater group…a bunch of their friend's kids are—and I said no, and Dad tried to hit me a couple times, so I just walked out. And Dad chased me for about a block, and then he caught up with me and told me I wasn't allowed to come back…so here I am."

"But it's been raining all day! And anyway, why are you such a bloody mess?"

Sirius answers, but he does not meet James' eyes, and he stumbles over the lie. "I fell down a couple times, actually," he invents, rubbing the back of his head, "It's pretty far…I got tired." That, at least, was truth. "Not that _they _care. I'm the stupid, worthless, no-good Gryffindor." He says it all smiling, unflinching. And the look on his face, and his voice, makes James want to punch him or hug him, scream. Do something to make his best friend be _Sirius _again.

"Of course you aren't worthless! They're your mum and dad, Padfoot." Sirius says nothing. "How did you get here, anyway? You said you fell down? You didn't _walk_?" James continues ranting, "Didn't fly, obviously…couldn't have taken the Knight Bus without a wand…"

"I walked," Sirius confirms, shaking his wet mane of hair. "It's only about twenty miles from my place to yours, and I've been walking since at least six in the morning."

"Merlin, Padfoot," James shakes his head, disbelieving.

"I'm sorry," Sirius says in a small voice, a frown beginning to play at his lips. "I thought you wouldn't mind, but I can leave, of course…"

"Of course I don't mind!" James yelps, throwing his arms in the air as he walks into the kitchen, abandoning his normal saunter. "I just can't believe your mum and dad would do that."

"Yeah, well, they've always liked Reg better, haven't they?" Sirius grouses, "He told them he wouldn't mind joining up in a year or two and they were absolutely _fawning _over him—it was disgusting. You're lucky—you've never met my parents."

"You never asked me to stay."

"Yeah, well, you can see why, can't you? Bad enough I have to stay there all summer, I wasn't going to inflict it on my best mate. Anyway, Mum and Dad didn't want you. They said some pretty nasty things…" Sirius blushes and looks away.

The two friends are silent as James rummages through the cupboards, before finally emerging with a box of stale cereal. "We don't have much food," James apologizes, pouring a large bowl and adding milk, "Mum and Dad are out grocery shopping…they should be back soon."

Sirius barely acknowledges the comment, instead throwing himself wholeheartedly into shoveling spoonfuls of the stuff into his mouth. He is about halfway through the bowl when Mr. and Mrs. Potter materialize in the kitchen, both weighed down with mountains of bags. James stands up and takes some from his mother, beginning to put them away.

"Thanks, Jamie," she says gratefully. Sirius places his bowl on the table and moves as if he wants to help as well, but stops when Mrs. Potter turns and views him. "Sirius Black?" she asks, squinting at him.

"The very same," he says, sliding into a deep, theatrical bow. "At your service."

Mr. Potter and James both stop putting food away and now stand in the corner observing the two, James grinning at his friend's antics.

"Well, I'm delighted to see you again, of course," the woman tells him, shaking his hand profusely. "I don't think we were expecting you?" She looks quite flustered; her brown hair is frizzy and falling out of her ponytail, with a sack of food tucked under one arm.

"No…no, actually, I just sort of decided to come…" Sirius admits, staring at his feet. Maybe it was a stupid idea to come here…he should have just gone to…Well; he could have found somewhere else to stay.

"I can leave…" he offers tentatively, shuffling his feet and brushing a lock of raven hair from in front of his eyes.

"Of course not," Mr. Potter speaks for the first time, his voice deep and rumbling. "If you need a place to stay, you're welcome here."

The boy nods his head gratefully. "Thank you sir," he says, visibly relaxing. He bends over and grabs a paper sack. He begins throwing things haphazardly into the cupboard, making sure no one can see his face.

Mrs. Potter frowns, concerned, and moves uncertainly to stand behind Sirius, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Sirius, dear, what's wrong?" She tosses out the endearment thoughtlessly, instinctively.

But Sirius cannot see it this way, and tenses. Numbly, he moves his mouth to form words that have floated through his head so many times he barely recognizes them when they are said aloud. "Mum and Dad threw me out," he says, his voice harsh and toneless. He laughs, trying to make a joke of it, but it dies at his lips.

James is scared. He has never seen Padfoot like this…He's always thought it would be near impossible to upset the happy-go-lucky marauder. Sirius has always been odd, and sometimes he seems to be depressed for weeks and days before springing back with a burst of energy as if to make up for the weeks spent lying in bed.

But no matter how bad it ever gotten, the fact remains that James has never seen Sirius cry and that is what seems to be happening now. He feels a burst of hot anger well up inside him as he thinks of the Blacks—evil, frightening people from what Sirius says, and James wants to kill them. And it scares him that he thinks that.

Sirius is embarrassed of his tears, and when Mrs. Potter tries to hold him like she would James, he pulls away and wipes his eyes on his arm. He is sixteen, to old to be comforted, too old to need comforting.

And he has been since he was eleven years old.


End file.
